If I were really feeling charitable, I would see all of you as merely pitiful and try to reason with you. But not one of you arouses an iota of pity of commiseration from me. I find you all to be despicable in the denotative sense, i.e., you’re so worthless and obnoxious that you rouse my utter moral indignation. And you’re despicable only in part because you don’t appreciate you’re worthless and obnoxious as you camp out on your laptops, tablets and cell phones pontificating from on high about the appropriate expressions of blackness—emboldened, apparently, by the notion that you and you alone are keepers of The Funk.

Fuck. You.

You’re a bunch of liars. Fuck you for that. No, seriously. You know y’all be lyin’ just as sure as you’re reading these words. But has that stopped you from swaddling yourselves in black righteousness and sanctimony as you chastise those of us who dare to speak honestly about our take on blackness? It hasn’t, no. So fuck you, again. Matter fact, muthafuck you.

If you’re black and you saw Gabby Douglas compete during the Olympics, you’re a gotdamned lie if you say you didn’t think, ‘That child’s hair looks a fool.’ Yes, you did. I say that (about her hair) without any malice, something I’ll expound upon later, but to be clear, her hair was popped!!!

Yes, she’s 16 years old. Yes, she has lived in Iowa with a white family for years while training for the Olympics. Yes, she made history by becoming a gold-medal winning gymnast at the 2012 Olympics and deserves to be congratulated for her accomplishment. Yes, she will earn millions of dollars as a commercial endorser (though not the $90 million figure that’s being thrown around).

But, yeah … it’s also true that her hair was bogus as hell, her age, place of residence, training and earning potential notwithstanding. Saying so doesn’t make me a hater or a confused, self-hating Negro, nor does it mean that I’m not “evolved”—a pet-word that the Joint Committee has bastardized into some New Age shit that would find me walking around wearing a faded Bob Marley t-shirt and looking vaguely unkempt, smoking weed and referring to women I don’t know from a hole in the wall as “queen.”

The point of straightening hair is to make it, you know, straight, right? Well, Gabby’s edges had forgot. And the stick-straight ponytail weave? Whole new dimension of confusion.

It should’ve dawned on you self-impressed assholes by now that if anyone should be labeled as self-hating, it’s a person who would sooner have relaxed or straightened hair sitting atop a hidden Afro than to wear it in its natural state. But that’s an inconvenient truth that applies to too many of you who are hurling the “self-hating” barb around so you ignore that. But you’re evolved? I’d rather be honest.

In the spirit of honesty, you know who I hate? Your lying asses.

And what is this bullshit about the focus should be on her gymnastics? If I’d hopped on Twitter and said that I thought her hair looked nice, no one would have told me that I should be focused on gymnastics then.

It is possible for us non-evolved folk to appreciate more than one thing about a person and in this case, I appreciated that her hair was busted and that she was the best gymnast on the floor. If you chose to ignore the obvious, congratulations, Super Black Ass Person! You’re blacker than I am!

But along the lines of staying focused, fuck you. For years we’ve been inundated by all manner of revelations, venting and commentary about natural hair. The shit is annoyingly ubiquitous. Even Oprah is talking about wearing her natural hair now (count me as being among those who were shocked to learn she hadn’t been all along). There are New York Times articles, support groups, a natural hair sorority (Pi Nappa Kappa), websites, You Tube Channels and Facebook pages about natural hair and that’s okay, right? Cool.

But how are you not only going to cram the natural hair discussion down the throats of we who are somewhere between indifferent and incredulous, but also tell me what I should think about a woman’s hair? Get thee whole, entire fuck outta here with that shit!!! If I have to hear all about the big chop, read about parties where women celebrate going natural and see the #happilynappy on Twitter, you’ll excuse me for feeling free to share my opinion about Gabby Douglas’ hair. Why? Because I want to. And all you can do about it is lie, be mad and feel evolved.

If it’s okay to compliment a woman’s hair –and I’ve told more than my share of women their hair looked good—then it has to be okay to criticize a woman’s hair. Oh, wait; Gabby’s “just a girl,” right? So? Is there an age restriction on good- or bad looking hair?

You know what? Don’t even answer that. Fuck you.

The discussion about Gabby’s hair became public because the discussion among black people about black hair is happening in private. That’s just how it works so stop talking this shit about not airing our dirty laundry. That genie has been out of the bottle.

Like it or not, hair is how black people communicate our sense of self—or do you think it just so happens to be the case that the black community spends a half-trillion dollars a year on hair products, processes and prosthetics? The real reason the Joint Committee and its supporters are upset is because when they saw Gabby Douglas, they saw themselves, their daughters, sisters, nieces and cousins on television. And they felt ashamed and embarrassed. As hard as they struggle to keep their hair tight, ‘Here you have this little nappy-headed black girl on TV making us all look bad???’

That’s your business and while a small part of me wants to empathize with you, all of you can go play in traffic trying to tell me what I should or shouldn’t say, how I feel about what my eyes saw and what that says about me. What it says is that I didn’t like what I saw. The End.

Nope. You didn’t. You ain’t forgot, because I ain’t forget. Stevie got more hits than hair on his head and we still turning a blind eye.

But you selfish bastards keep letting our heroes go over the edge. I bet you would have gave an overweight crooner a Whopper, or edged up a line of coke for an already coked out vocalist? Wouldn’t you? You ain’t shyt.

And please miss me with that “he’s a grown man and can wear his hair however he blah blah blah…”

STEVIE. BEEN. BLIND! He don’t know what the hell he supposed to look like, it’s up to us and we let him down. No, YOU let him down.

I was chillin’….I really was. Had stepped back from the blog scene for a sec, meditated, sought counsel, the whole nine. But nooooooo, every time I try to get out, you all do some dumb shyt that keeps bringing me back in. El Jugo is effectively the Michael Corleone of the ratchet blogosphere.

So here’s my dilemma:

I have a brain trust of feminine commentary that I turn to when utterly perplexed by the shyt women do. This distinguished sorority of sistas lends me an everyday perspective on things that I, as a man, may be oblivious to. They keep me from acting entirely on my impulses without first seeking a more enlightened perspective. So, I’ve been seeing some crazy shyt and I text these chicks today.

Question: What type of inferences can I draw from a chick reading, IN PUBLIC, one of those urban-erotica Zane-screw me hard on the desk of my supervisor so the security guard who’s been trying to get on can see-type books?

[Disclaimer: before we confirm or deny whether El Jugo’s impulse is correct, let’s take a moment to analyze the Think Tank’s commentary. Names changed to protect the innocent]

Giselle N.: “I’m just sayin…she can’t say she’s reading it for the book club. Chile please, cover up.” El Jugo’s sentiments exactly! This is the equivalent of literary porn. Granted, we at The Ninja Parade, encourage all women to thoroughly explore their inner freak, but damn babygril. What type of attention are you soliciting?? Did you not notice me noticing you as your thighs rub together about some chick getting d!cked down in the shower? Quit crossing your legs and read some damn Chaucer.

Janet E.: “If I were a guy, I would talk to them simply because they feel free enough to read a sex book in public, what else is she willing to do in public?”Great. fcuking. questing. Janet. Although I don’t think anyone deserves to be disrespected, regardless of her choice of reading materials…I do wholeheartedly reserve the right to discreetly think you’re a freak on the prowl. What one reads is probably more indicative of their interests than what he or she listens to or watches on television. Anyone can watch some random shyt on tv or get stupid song stuck in their head….but how many people reeeally read very graphic sexual exploits and aren’t at the least mildly interested in acting some of that shyt out? *crickets*

Pristina W.: “I’m all for women being comfortable in their sexuality…perhaps a sista should get a Kindle”You see, everybody has a lil El Jugo in ’em. I’m not saying you shouldn’t read erotica and touch yourself, but El Jugo gets offended at the suggestion that men shouldn’t draw conclusions about what’s in plain view. You have a right to read whatever you want, just like i/we have a right to think whatever we want about it. And if you can’t put that shyt down and MUST take it everywhere….damn, get a Kindle. *Hi-five’s Pristina*

Anna N.: “I mean maybe they just need some excitement in their lives. In my opinion women who read those books are not sexually fulfilled.” Couldn’t agree more. Not being fulfilled doesn’t entirely mean you’re not getting ANY…it means you’re not getting broke off by the shockingly intelligent dude who fixes your car on a late evening while your lackluster man gives you regular sex…ya know, the type of shyt that happens in the books. Funny thing is, the guy that fixes your car probably hits on you every time and you don’t give him a blink. Grow up and act that shyt out then…or at least leave a copy of that freaky shyt on your front seat next time famo changes your oil.

Cynthia B.: “They want to seem sexually empowered but are actually thirsty as hell.” Damn, exposed. Intellectualism, even feigned intellectualism cant hide true thirst. And *leans in and whispers* it be them smarty art heaux that’s the most goin’. Bish we see you. And it’s not like this stuff is written in any way to suggest a true challenge of your scope of imagination…it’s designed to make you hot ‘n bothered. Whereas some guys may see a book (any book) and think “scholar”…El Jugo checks the title and thinks “runner”.

Londa G. “I also think women who read those books don’t practice discretion.” Wait…so not only are you thirsty, you messy too?? WTF ever happened to reading hair magazines?

See. I told you. El Jugo knows when a chick is, as one respondent eloquently stated, putting together a “marketing plan for the box”. But don’t let our commentary discourage you…it fact, let the transparency be what motivates you.

So real, that I combed it four times because a character-type jumped out at me. In a quoted description of their exchange, I was floored.

“He’d made it very clear from the beginning that he didn’t want a girlfriend.

“No titles,” he’d said. And I’d agreed.

And we hung out, messed around, went out on dates, exchanged gifts, he met my parents. But he’d been clear. No titles.”

This mystery man, whom the author chooses to leave anonymous (but is no doubt KNOWN within her circle) is the quintessential non-committed man. She dealt with him. It didn’t work out. A valuable life lesson (“how’s” and “why’s” included) was learned, sooner rather than later.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut.

For the men, across the blogosphere who were forwarded this blog we collectively gave each other “the look”.

You know, the look niggas give one another as the WHOLE barbershop falls deathly silent when lil TeQuan’s mama (with the slim waist and phat ass) walks in. The look that unquestionably screams, “yo famo…you see this shit?”

Curiously, the look is not directed towards the author, nor the author’s former self whom she eloquently depicts, but towards the un-named tall Friend (+Benefits) quoted above.

Here at The Ninja Parade, we’re all about people learning valuable life lessons and receiving stress-free box. And I get the feeling that the author turned out alright after all, but to the antagonist of that blog, we say this…

No offense bruh, but you jagged off some perfectly good and completely free college box […and lowkey probably messed it up for the next cat.]

Here’s 2 Good Reasons why:

1. You Didn’t “Out” The Other Heaux: see, ninjas mess stuff up because for one reason or another, they refuse to let women know that there are other women. Ol El Jugo learned a long looooooong time ago a very simple truth: that when a woman has made up her mind that she wants a man (as the author instantly did upon SEEING this nigga) she will often turn a blind eye to the presence of other women. I mean, it’s cool and all that you let lil mama know you didn’t want a relationship or titles, but the very next breath should suggest that other heaux are in the background/sideline. This, of course, has to be done with great care. Because a woman will tolerate it as long as a) you directly or indirectly make the extra heaux known, b) you do not in any way embarrass ANY of them, c) you are out here blowing their WHOLE COLLECTIVE BACKS (plural, as in all of them) OUT. You’d be surprised what a woman will “know” but “not know” if you can make them moan.

2. Boyfriend “Privileges”: *sigh* this is THE #1 Cause that perfectly good and free college, grad school, law school, medical school, office, gym membership, and any other random free box is messed up. Niggas…do…too…much. Men need to understand something, not every woman is interested in being your wife, your soulmate, your babymama, or lowkey even your friend…sometimes she’ll be cool with a couple drinks, a few laughs and a few more pelvic thrusts. Granted, you have to let a woman be a woman, some stuff, you judiciously have to let her nurture for you. However, other than the occasional meal or sleepover, shiiiiiiiiiiiid my dude, she’s probably laying there afterwards wondering if she DVR’d Love & Hip Hop, and if not, can she make it home in time to catch a re-run. She ain’t in love witcho black ass and she’s perfectly okay with it. But NOOOOOOOOO. You lay there with her, all night, nose all buried in your chest having all manner of intimate conversation, exchanging gifts, meeting parents n’shyt. You mistook your role as Primary Penis Provider (PPP or P3) for a boyfriend. Dumbass. Boyfriend Privileges are like cologne…the more of it you put on, the more you make women nauseous when they truly get close to you.

Welp, it became obvious after The “Keep-A-B1tch” Baby blog that there were some who were a bit confused about something. Here at The Ninja Parade we fashion ourselves as a fount of wisdom, diligently striving for clarity in the cloudy blogoshphere.

Sooooo, let’s make some shit perfectly clear…Situational Thug Tendencies (STT) exist on even the highest levels of society and most of ya’ll (and by ya’ll, I mean women) luh this shit. We didn’t just make this up…nope, couldn’t have.

Definition: Situational Thug Tendencies~ one’s natural, or manufactured, bravado that seeks to abandon civil discourse temporarily, for the sake of doing some ratchet hood-nigga shit. [ex: “Wait…did dude who runs the non-profit REALLY just do the Folks/GD <or, insert local gang handshake> with my dad?”]

You see, it really is shit like that that turns these heaux on. Yup, I said it. These heaux secretly (or not so much) love a guy with an edge. However, too many times that edge is really just some STT dressed up in a pinpoint oxford, and Kenneth Cole loafers.

To better served you, we’ve complied a brief guide to help you better identify STT in the ones you love.

1. Situational Violence. Save your criticism and high-road commentary…most of ya’ll heaux love niggas that will pop on a another nigga for something relatively trivial. And the more trivial the violation that leads to violence, the more STT avails itself to be seen. No, you may not want fam to get wasted and pick a fight in the parking lot of Outback Steak House…but I KNOW that it makes a woman feel some kind of way when she knows I will kick a grown homeless man in the balls for being too aggressive in his panhandling for change. And she may have a full blown orgasm is Mr. Certified Public Accountant swings on a full-time thug after an exchange over why yelling “AYE RED!” to CPA’s thick lightskinded lady-friend is not acceptable.

2. Situational Versatility. There’s something to be said about a person who is comfortable in his own skin, regardless of the situation. Situational Versatility is for the Hood Chick (READ: not, Hoodrat) who is dating up but still wants to stay true to her ghetto sensibilities. You see, just because you’ve moved up out the hood, have a fresh lil townhouse, a small dog, regularly maintained sew-ins, and take trips to Miami with your girls…doesn’t make you entirely divorced from yo hood ass families and/or kids. It is really debatable whether or not a man can “flip it” and go from sophisticated to hood in an instant. What isn’t debatable is that a nigga that quote scripture, roll blunts, help lil man with his homework, owns a questionably registered firearm and can effectively not get roasted by yo ignant ass cousins for being a lame at the family gatherings is #winning.

3. Situational Sexy-Talk. Again, sit yo ass <points to corner> all the way over there if you don’t like this shit babygirl. THIS. RIGHT HERE…is how babies are made. Dear Ms. Waiting To Exhale With Mr. Established: we see you…and if they don’t, El Jugo does. Everything about your exterior SCREAMS *Tresvant voice* “I want a man with sensativity!”. Love, El Jugo. But I know something. I know that underneath your neatly folded bra/pantie collection, Coach wristlets, sensible heels…you want your eloquently polished love to talk to you like you’re fresh off a rap video shoot, lowkey still sweating from the lights, half-naked and gone off moscato about to get your WHOLE back blown out in the trailer. Cool. Even if your man doesn’t have a single solitary ounce of thug in his heart…if he can pull off some gangta-shyt in the bedroom, he’s already won and so have you.

Lurking under the surface of the black community, hidden beneath back-issue stacks of Source Magazines in barbershops, wrapped in White Owl White Grapes, and saved discretely on XBOX Memory cards is a dirty little secret that many black men hold. *looks around from side-to-side* So damaging the truth that Ol El Jugo fears for my very safety.

You see, what ya’ll didn’t know (often until years later) is that there are many men who have cleverly laid a trap. This trap, blessed as it may be, started with the most selfish of notions and eloquently communicated in just 5 simple words…”This bish ain’t goin’ nowhere”.

Yes, that’s it. The “Keep-A-Bish” baby.

It’s a known fact here at the Ninja Parade and elsewhere that women will attempt to “trap” men with a baby in order to secure tangibles and intangibles. What is lesser know is *wait on it* …niggas do the same shyt.

“How?”, you ask. It’s really quite simple. In our incessant human need for companionship, some men tend to lose something in the details…they aren’t equipped for, qualified to, or tangibly able to sustain a relationship with a woman on their own. So, these men in question resort to trickery (also known as fuckery in some circles).

1- The Quest to be ‘THE” Babydaddy. As stupid as this is going to sound, upon doing research, I’ve found this to be true…some niggas will not rest until they are some woman’s (or several women’s) 1st Child’s Father. I know, crazy right? But it’s true. Even crazier is this dude usually is the 2nd, or 3rd string babydaddy somewhere else. Coming into a situation where your baby is #2 (or more) AND trying to “work it out” with your babymama has GOT TO BE infinitely harder than just getting some unassuming single chick with no kids pregnant, right?

2. Monetary Gain. *sigh* Dear Ms. Independent: please understand that your independent, good job working, good benefits possessing, health care savings account card swiping, Remy Saga wearing ass is a financial come-up for a LOT of niggas. Especially in a recession. Govern yourselves accordingly. Love, El Jugo. Here’s where ya’ll get got. Ya’ll want that nigga with an “edge”. You see, “Keep-A-B1tch” babies aren’t just relegated to the lower rungs of the hood…and some random dude scamming on a food stamp card. Nope. You, your natural hair journey, and your book club can get it too. Why? Because you’re attracted to a guy with an “edge”. Sure, you’re too smart to blatantly love a thug, but you want a man with STT (situational thug tendencies) who is motivated, goal oriented, blah blah blah. Nothing wrong with this, just understand that said tendencies often come with side effects. He NEEDS you go come up. And will blow your WHOLE back out and lay on your couch and quantify how much money he’s saving you in child care to get to his destiny.

3. She FINE. Fcuk it…some niggas can be real petty. So much so that he can look at your delicately draped coifs, pretty brown eyes, seamless MAC cosmetic skin, slim waist (and corresponding ass-to-waist ratio) and think nothing more than having you barefoot and pregnant so the next man can’t have you. Like I said, petty. Instead of trying to see if this can be “forever” he opts for the crudest way to keep you on ice (usually while he explores his options)…he get’s this bad chick pregnant. Note: if he can pull one bad chick, he can certainly pull another. *smh* Problem is…super-bad chicks are usually the most gullible; and don’t let dude have a lil loot…shiiiiiiiiid. Some of ya’ll reading this right now shaking your damn head.

“You niggas think I sing songs and run around here and do dances” – Ray J

First off… shoutout to DJ Envy, Angela Yee, and Charlamagne Tha God (and the whole Power 105.1 staff) for keeping a straight face through the entire Ray J phone call. [But ya’ll slick wrong as hell for playing “One Wish” to lead into the commercial break…we peeped that] Way to keep it professional in the face of patent absurdity.

“I’m tired of being humble with niggas” – Ray J

Secondly…not that Infamous El Jugo doesn’t believe Ray J is a raging egomaniac that actually believes that he can “smack them b!tch ass niggas” on site, it’s just the mental image of Brandy’s brother actually putting his hands on someone that makes us shake our heads and go, “naaaahhh”.

“I got pink slips on everyone of my whips” – Ray J.

Third… all things considered, it’s not out of the scope of reason that Ray J would want to spring on a nigga for cracking jokes; after all, he does roll with the “Money Team” and get designs cut into the side of his head, and who could forget “Boyfriend” off the All I Feel album?? #thugshyt

“I play piano on that piano every muthafukin day” – Ray J

Lastly, as if the egregious name-dropping weren’t enough to raise an eyebrow about the interview he goes on to continue to make threats against Fab. Granted, Fab has never portrayed himself as a “thug” type of rapper, or given the impression that he’s out here head-butting niggas and whatnot…but you know what, fuck it…this nigga Ray J lyin.